On My Terms
by nachalainne
Summary: MATURE. Snippet of a much larger story that I swear I will type up someday Between Glorfindel and an OFC my char. in an uncomfortably hilarious situation -- at least, for him anyway.


Moments of previous silence were thrown aside at the sound of brisk tapping upon the oaken door. Though the War Councillor was at home, he hadn't been expecting anyone – particularly at such an hour. An eyebrow raised at the curious circumstances, he eased open the thick wood, so reminiscent of a different age, to find the most unlikely of people upon his doorstep.

By that point, Uruviel had given up all hope of understanding what she was doing. The past few days, weeks and months even, had become a blur to her still mildly inebriated mind – and attempting to un-muddle her thoughts would only serve to confuse her more. The only thing she felt certain of understanding was a dire need for something only Glorfindel was likely to give – and of course, satisfaction at the knowledge of what would result.

"Uruviel…" He didn't know where to begin. Of all the elves least likely to be at his door, and so late at night, it was somewhat unnerving. Perhaps she had come once more to do him some mischief – oh, the vengeance of she-elves! "To what do I owe this most incredulous meeting?" His surprise was evident in the naturally silken tones of his voice.

A look of mild contemplation stretched across the she-elf's face – as though she were actually considering an educated response. After a brief pause, she answered: "Shut up and take your clothes off." Striding forward determinedly, she forced Glorfindel back into his own rooms, allowing the door to clip shut softly behind her.

Needless to say, the councillor's previous state of shock was minute in comparison to the new one. Now he was certain that he was either dreaming, or he had gone insane – perhaps both. Uruviel was an elf, happily settled – not to mention she rather despised him. Why had she come to him, very resolutely, in search of such an unnecessary act, when she had someone else? Unless…

The feel of deft hands tugging at the laces of his leggings drove all coherent thoughts from his mind – her fingers nimbly leaving residual heat in places it should not have been. Shoving her hands away, he dashed behind a chair – hoping, if nothing else, to put distance between them. "What gotten into your head, princess?!" he cried, perhaps it was a trap.

"Nothing important," she retorted dryly, hands on her hips. "Why are you being so obstinate?"

"Because you're acting crazy!" he replied with exasperation. "What in the name of Arda is wrong with you?"

"Nothing!" she exclaimed. "Now, will you shut up and cooperate!"

"Not until I know what in Mordor is going on!"

Glaring at him from the opposite side of the chair, the she-elf folded her arms across her chest, face contorted into an angry pout. "It doesn't matter. All that matters is what happens when you and I get in that bed." She extended one finger and pointed directly at his satin, layered bed – a most enticing sight.

"But WHY?" he demanded, knee pressed against the chair to keep her from simply forcing it out of the way.

"Because!" she cried, voice raised with determination. "What further excuse should you need!"

"More than that, Uruviel. Why now, when you've before had so many opportunities, would you seek my company, a thing you once reviled." His face was set, glassy blue eyes staring her down – demanding an answer.

She held his gaze for several minutes, azure storms raging in a tempestual vision. Only the knowledge that he had nothing to lose from a continuous wait drove her to throw in the towel. "Fine…" she conceded, sighing with regret as she sank to the floor, back against the plush bedspread. "There are … personal reasons," she began, story written in her eyes where her lips would not tell. "Consider it my one act of forgiveness." There was a decidedly icy ring in the last word.

"Forgiveness…" he repeated slowly. 'If only that were the truth.' Surveying her, he searched for any hint of a darker motive. Simply because elves were good natured folk didn't mean they couldn't have a vengeance. "And this is no trick?" he asked cautiously, voice stern and reprimanding.

"No trick," she answered, head shaking forlornly. "It's nothing more than whatever happens."

He watched her carefully once again, eyes taking in every detail – just in case. There was nothing ominous about her, no invisible smirk of glory to warn him that she was bluffing, nothing more than the mask of loneliness and desire that had before etched its weariness onto her naturally cheerful face. Perhaps it wasn't simply a mask…

"Alright," he answered – voice dipping tones with the surge of images that flashed before his eyes. How he had pined for this second chance. "But we do this on my terms," he stated, towering over her.

"Your… terms?" she questioned, eyebrow raised haughtily. "What exactly would those be?"

"From the moment we begin this, to whenever it ends, I'm allowed to say when it happens. When I want – you give, regardless."

No emotion penetrated the blankness of her features, a new mask to hide the truth of previous moments. "…anything else?"

"Just one other …"

"And?"

"Smile… life isn't as horrible as you make it out to be."

A malicious glare lit her azure eyes into a sparkling rage as she opened her mouth to protest at his demands. She never got the opportunity, however, and as the night progressed – she forgot about it entirely.


End file.
